Best of us
by ipodder
Summary: So she sits back, not before pouring a glass of wine god knows she'll need it to get through this atrocious academic foreign film , puts the blanket comfortably over both of them, and settles down to watch the film with the man she loves. BJu moments.
1. Let's just be

She honestly thinks they're wasting a perfectly good day by doing this; curling up on the couch, lights dimmed and curtains closed (in the afternoon?!), they're nursing lukewarm mugs of tea (she hates tea, especially this weird green tea he's picked up from Tokyo). If she had her way, they'd either be in a small cafe downtown, sipping iced teas and watch the passing crowd for inspiration for her new summer line. But she stupidly let him have his way, so now they're intently watching a mind numbingly dull foreign film-in black and white. A part of her wants to take her father's boat (one of the many things her mother gained from the divorce), out for a ride and soak up the sun, possibly feeding Julian strawberries on the dock while she tans in the process.

But no, they're cooped up inside today; because this boring film just couldn't wait another day.

Or at least till the sun goes down.

This isn't what she imagined a sunday to be.

Although she has grown up a lot from the girl she was fighting to escape in high school, she's still, essentially, Brooke Davis. And sitting on a couch in a dimly lit room, while the rest of Tree Hill are out enjoying the heat, just isn't her style.

She wants to complain, or maybe pout and whine in that raspy voice (like she did with his 'army man' poster and numerous plaid shirts, that she secretly thought was kind of adorable, just not from monday to friday). But when she glances at him and sees the way his eyes shine, glued to the TV, she understands that its movies like these, that made him want to become a producer in the first place.

So she sits back, not before pouring a glass of wine (god knows she'll need it to get through this atrocious academic foreign film), puts the blanket comfortably over both of them, and settles down to watch the film with the man she loves.

She doesn't even try to distract him, he's taking _notes _for God's sakes, and biting the tip of his pencil. She's so bored that she's considering picking up that _Vogue _on the coffee table, but she doesn't want to make him feel like she doesn't want to be there with him.

So she sips more wine, welcoming the slight buzz after three glasses, and allows him to explain the hidden metaphorical slash political message hidden in the dialogue between two old and slightly unattractive women with unfortunate clothes. She loves seeing him get all excited and passionate about these things; because it reminds her of how different they are, she loves their differences. She loves that someone like him can find things to love about her, and she's proud that she's able to mature and settle down with someone like _him._

The film probably went on for about five hours, or at least it felt like it. The next thing she knew, she felt Julian's stubble on her forehead.

'Baby, wake up.'

She looked up to find him grinning slightly, and a guilty smile graces her features, 'I'm sorry I fell asleep.'

He smiled, 'That's okay, thanks for staying with me anyway'

His voice was so gentle, and she falls again for that voice, the slightly over pronounced drawl, laced with thoughtfulness that she reaches up to kiss him.

'You're too good to me', she mumbles through kisses.

He grins and slips his tongue in her mouth, he gently presses her down on the couch and hovers over her, moving his lips to her neck and she sighs, running her hand against his hair. His lips move back to hers, more forcefully this time and she tries to work on his zipper, making his breath hitch ever so slightly. He bites her lower lip and sneaks a hand down her jeans, toying with her underwear, and she's just about to lose control or shred his shirt off before he pulls away completely and smirks at her.

'That's for sleeping through the best movie of the century, I'll see you later babe.'

Brooke Davis has just been played.

But as always, that night was spent making up to each other, and _that, _in her opinion, is the best way to end the weekend.


	2. First in line

Sometimes there's people who wonder why they are together. But he can't help but think why their reasons for saying so are so _immature_. Although he's aware that the whole 'opposites attract', with cute couples playfully arguing about different interests is oh so extremely cliché, _it does appeal. _People who say that they shouldn't be together because she hates foreign films and he refuses to drink coffee makes him frustrated; there's so much going against them already, _has been_, and he doesn't need another endless list of 'reasons why this shouldn't work' to drive Brooke further away.

He just got her back, and although they feel _steady _and _assured_ this time, he's sometimes so afraid that she would shut him out and find reasons to run away, yet again. Because although he'll catch up to her every time, he wonders if she can ever manage to find steady ground with them.

He tries to find subtexts in her words, seeks for the slight sign of sadness in her eyes; and nowadays, signs of unhappiness are hard to find; and he's happy, _very happy _about that.

He finds post its on the fridge, receives random texts from her throughout the day. He sends her obscure songs with a little note of _this makes me think of us_ and brings her coffee when she's stressed.

They're in love, and it feels like they're back into the honeymoon stage again.

He hates being photographed, and although he's a talker, he hates interviews. But he knows, as their jobs come with a cost of exposure; they need to 'keep up appearances'. They're in New York this weekend, so he dresses up in a dark suit with a tie that matches her dress and tries to fight off any insecurities that are brought on by the flashes and loud photographers, and _other handsome men._

He stands and watches as she glides though the red carpet, smiling and even laughing when necessary; her answers to slightly irritating questions are polite and short, and she lights up when she talks about the new line of _Clothes for Bros. _He feels slightly (or extremely if he's being honest) possessive and jealous when she's asked to 'pull her dress up!' or 'turn this way!' so her breasts become more exposed to the camera; who knows what they will be doing with these pictures, it's ridiculous! And so he steps in and clutches her hand, firmly as if to announce that _she's mine and no one else is allowed to touch her._ He turns to watch her, so at ease with the cameras, the screaming, but he feels her flinch slightly at the heat, and he can tell that she doesn't want to discuss her personal life; why are people still talking about Nick Lachey and the attack? So he squeezes her hand and allows his fingers to stroke her palm. She winks at

him and mouths an _I love you_ in return.

The press got a pretty decent picture out of it.

The event was loud, busy, and a collection of the A to C list. He stays by her side the whole time; appraching people as a couple; there's more photographers and when a slightly greasy actor places his arms around her waist, she smiles brightly at the camera that it hurts his eyes; he wonders how she can look so amazing _all the freaking time._

A group of giggling twenty something TV actresses ask him about Alex Dupre, and although they've made peace and put it all behind them, he feels Brooke tense up slightly and he excuses them from the group.

He's discussing a book with a Vanity Fair contributor when he spots her sipping champagne, running her hands through her longer brown locks, laughing with some fashion editors, no doubt thanking them for good reviews. _Everybody _is here, but all he can concentrate on, is her.

She turns towards him and motions to the exit, and he couldn't get out of there fast enough.

She attacks his lips with hers, and drags him towards a deserted corridor without a security camera.

'You're mine, and all those girls were looking at you in there, you're just mine', she mumbles through rushed and heavy kisses, she works his zip as he hikes up her dress, not caring about lingering photographers or jealousy issues he may have had prior to this moment.

'I wouldn't have it any other way, _B. Davis'_

He wonders if _anybody_ has a clue what goes on behind the scenes.

They head back into the party for about an hour, before leaving again.

'That was a pretty good party, as far as these things go, I got to network a little bit'

She smiles, 'and I got a few phone numbers'

Her wink lets him know she's joking, and although he already _had _her less than two hours ago, he hand pressing on his thigh is not making him think straight.

'Babe, you have to stop doing that'

As she moves it higher, that it's _literally on his member_, he grins and stops the car, letting her have her way.

Brooke comes out of the bathroom, her hair messy, make up washed and wearing his flannel shirt, he curses himself for being a stupid teenage boy and wanting to have her again, and again.

She kisses him and they fall onto the bed, but a heavy make out turns into cuddling; and now he's drinking his green tea and she's sipping coffee; it's about 3am now and they're still awake. He's typing nonsense on the laptop and she's watching some teen show.

They feel settled in a way that elderly couples do, and he finds that kind of sexy; the way she's completely comfortable in shredding her dress, into an old flannel, munching a bag of fried potato chips and slurping that _disgusting _coffee, and although her tongue now tastes of coffee, he's willing to let that slide.

They have two lives; one where they attend glamorous, yet slightly superficial networking parties, drink champagne like its water, and another life where its just them, a couple who stays in Tree Hill most of the time; most of the people wouldn't dare dream to understand the history of that little town Brooke grew up in. But it's them, and as long as _he _understands it, that's okay. Because this works for them; being together all the time in so many different ways.


	3. Paperweight

They've explored every kind of treatment there is, everything with complicated names that Brooke didn't understand and that Julian wrote down to google at home.

He's sitting with a glass of whiskey, it's probably his fourth glass; he's not usually a big drinker, but when reading about fertility treatments and 'exploring other options', he really can't do it sober.

And it confuses him how they can go from having sex in the car after that big party in New York, to scheming a Victoria/Paul courtship over dinner to _this_; being upset about _this _all over again.

They already went through this once already, and it kind of tore them apart.

Brooke is drinking her fifth glass of wine, he's pretty sure she's drinking from the bottle at this point; she's sitting on the couch, staring into space.

'Brooke, test tube babies are completely normal; and we can even explore adoption- I really think-'

'Julian, give it a rest'

Her voice is tired, strained, and she's annoyed that he even suggested for them to go see the doctor this morning in the first place. It just forced them to take three steps back.

Her words are slightly slurred, and he really doesn't know what she wants from him, and despite being rather intoxicated himself, he still understands that it isn't healthy, it isn't _them _to deal with things this way.

'We've been through this already, it just isn't meant to happen, and I guess you'll have to live with that, or go find someone else.'

And she finishes the last drop in that wine bottle, and starts to make her way to the bedroom.

'Don't you dare walk away from this', he stands a little too quickly, before his head could catch up with him and he's stumbling slightly.

The look in her eyes makes him wonder if she is actually drunk at all.

'Don't you think this is hard for me too? Okay, I'm a guy, and yeah, we're not even engaged or married or whatever- but I already know how I want the rest of my life to be; I'm sick of this! I'm sick of wondering if you just want the kids, and that you'll be fine without me! I am sick,, am really sick of fighting with you over this; and I hate that it's happening to you, okay.'

Each word stabs into her chest like a bullet, and she's crying now.

'Julian, I-'

'And, and you know what I hate most about this?'

No, she doesn't want to know at all.

'The fact that, even after everything we've been through together, you still think that, for even a fraction of a second; I want to be with anyone else. Because at this point, whenever I see you so upset about this, I want to scream, okay? I literally want to scream, and cry, and yeah I'm not a violent guy, but there are some days I would actually go out and _kill_ someone, if it could give you a baby, okay? That's how much I love you, and even now, I really do hope you love me too.'

She's walking towards him now, he can see the determination in her eyes, the slight buzz from the wine is long gone, and although it was indeed 'liquid courage' that got him to say those things, for a second, it feels like everything is becoming clear again,

Steadier now.

'I love you, okay. I'm not good with speeches and words and they make me feel weak and awkward, but I love you. Whenever I say those things, don't ever think, for a second that I wouldn't fight with everything I have to keep you here with me. I want a baby with you so much because, I-'

'I just wanted more of you to love.'

And it wasn't one of those arguments that needed a string of heartfelt apologies, one of them didn't have to sleep on the couch, and they didn't have to have those long discusssions that everybody knows never solves anything anyway.

He breaks into a huge grin, and elopes her into a hug.

She reaches to kiss his neck, a different, less suggestive kiss than normal, and breathes those three words in his ear.

They ended up on the kitchen floor, sharing another bottle of wine, getting slightly intoxicated _together_ and muttering words of love and promise to each other.

'We'll get through this right? You'll be happy if we adopt, whatever happens and everything?'

And he just reaches over and kisses her, forcing her lips open with his tongue.

'You,' he mumbles, breathing in her taste, 'really do think too much.'

And as she closes the space between them, taking in his hand and crossing it over her heart, she's never felt more relaxed, more assured about going into the unknown.


End file.
